Vanishing
by SwedenSara
Summary: I hated my body. Bad things happened to me because of it. I wanted my body to change. I wanted it to vanish. Entry for the BeyondThePale contest. *Warning: deals with self starvation and insinuated abuse/rape.*


**Beyond the Pale Contest**

**Title: Vanishing**

**Pen Name: SwedenSara**

**Characters: 8,108**

**Disclaimer: I don not own Twilight. Stephenie Meyer does.**

**Image that Inspired You: #19**

**To see other entries in the Beyond the Pale Contest, please visit the C2 page:**

**http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / community / Beyond_the_Pale_Contest_Entries/83159/**

* * *

_**Vanishing**_

The sun was shining as we left school that Friday. It was only a month until summer break, and everybody was giddy with anticipation and tired of school. I laughed at my friends as they planned the beachwear, the parties, which boys to flirt with and to what base they would go with them.

"First with Jamie, second with Mark, and I'd definitely go third base with Richie. Come on, Pooh, it's your turn. Tell us!" Erin turned to me, pleading.

My name is actually Alice, but Pooh Bear had been my nickname since I ate an entire jar of honey at kindergarten. I have had a sweet tooth since forever, and was never seen without a piece of candy. Luckily I had strong teeth, and when my friends had to go to the dentist and take care of the cavities, my teeth stayed cavity free.

I shook my head at them and smiled, trying to hide my nausea. The idea of Erin letting James go first base was sickening. The thought of him alone made me want to vomit. Erin knew nothing about him. I knew more than I wanted to.

"I will go to no base at all, with no guy at all. Seriously, why do you even bother with them? Boys are assholes, and I bet they'll spread the word on Facebook the minute they get out of your panties. I wouldn't touch them with a stick even if you paid me to," I stated.

I wanted nothing to do with boys, but I would never tell the girls the reason for it. My best buddy since childhood, Christopher, was no longer a friend of mine. If he, the Christopher Robin to my Pooh Bear, could turn on me like that, then no boy was worth trusting. He was now friends with James, and a part of something that made my life miserable, in and out of school. His betrayal was worse than anything they'd ever done to me, though.

I waved good bye to my friends and strolled down the street, munching on a Mars bar. I knew I was safe for at least an hour or two, since our school days were shorter than _theirs_. I didn't want to go home yet, the sun was warm against my pale skin and the air was filled with the scents of early summer. I headed for the playground, and was happy to realize it was empty. No kids and moms, which meant I'd be alone on the swings and not have to worry about toddlers running in front of my swinging feet. I jumped up on one of them, and kicked off to gain speed.

I knew that I, with my 16 years, was too old for swings and playgrounds, but there was something about the feeling you get when you are at the top of the oscillation. Just before you start falling back down you feel weightless, like you are flying. I always loved that feeling.

The playground was usually a safe place for me. Not this day, though. I heard their voices before I saw them. I tried to make myself as invisible as possible, crouching on the swing at the deserted playground.

I briefly considered jumping off the swing and running, but knew it would make things much worse when they finally got to me. Because they would get to me, I was certain of it. So I did nothing, just kept on swinging with my head down and my eyes fixed in the ground.

I kept swinging, wishing for them to take another route, to not cross my path once again. Last time left me bruised, and I was sick of trying to hide my marred skin in the locker room after gym class. My jaw clenched and I braced myself for yet another unpleasant encounter.

Last time they came prepared with sticks and duct tape. The tape silenced me effectively. They fastened me to a tree in the woods and poked me all over, before they urinated on me and left. I was lucky enough to be discovered by a lady with a dog. Tears sprang to her eyes as she released me, and when she removed the tape from my mouth I begged her not to tell anyone. I ran home with her sobs still ringing in my ears.

I wasn't lucky this time either. Their bantering turned into quiet whispers as they spotted me. I wondered what they planned this time. Would they be content with calling me humiliating names, or would they go for the more aggressive physical approach?

I didn't have to look at them to know which ones were there. I knew their voices by heart; they were etched into my conscience like the burn marks on my pale skin. Through the whispers one of them suddenly shrieked, and I listened intently. I knew the voice, I grew up with it.

"What the hell, James… are you crazy? The hell I won't! I'm not in on this, you sick fuck! I'm outta here."

One of the boys made off into the shadows. I watched his familiar form disappear and my heart fell.

_And then they were only five…_

The buzzing sensation in the back of my neck told me adrenaline was starting to rush through my body, increasing my pulse and making my body tremble. Every swing I took seemed to go in slow motion, and the loud thumps of my heart were attacking my eardrums. I felt more than saw the boys closing in on me from behind, before they surrounded me, trapping me and cutting off every path of flight. I silently thanked Christopher for not taking part in this, and sent a prayer out with each breath leaving my lungs.

_Please get help. Please get help. Please get help._

My prayers were left unanswered. God was on vacation, and no one was filling his position.

A sudden jolt pulled the swing to a stop, and harsh hands grabbed my feet, dragging me to the ground. My head hit a rock and red and yellow spots flashed before my eyes from the pain. I felt the ground scraping my back as they pulled me off the playground, into the bushes nearby.

A dim light trailed down through the trees, causing a dusky green shimmer to fall over the faces of my foes. Their faces were contorted, their mouths twisted into evil grins, and their eyes were black with hate I didn't deserve.

Only one face was still smooth. It showed no emotions, just simply… indifference. It was callous and almost apathetic, and I knew from experience that the only thing that would break the numbness and let some kind of emotion show was my tears. That face belonged to the worst of them all. The one who called the shots, who did all the talking, while the others quietly did as he ordered. James. My tears usually made a small and barely noticeable sneer spread across his face. It never reached his eyes.

Then he spoke, and my torment began again.

"Look boys, _it_'s moving."

"Make it stand up so I can look at it."

Two pairs of hands were holding me, making me unable to move. I felt hot breaths washing over me, drowning me in a scent of taco chips and onion.

"Wow, it's growing up, don't you think?"

He walked slowly around me, closely watching my body.

"Are those tits? I think they are… Check it out; see if it has grown a proper pair of titties for me."

The boy behind me moved his hands from my shoulders to my breasts and squeezed them hard. It hurt, and the pain lingered even after he released them.

"How do they feel, are they any good?"

I felt an affirmative nod behind my back.

"Hold it still, so I can evaluate the titty situation. I need to know if it has boobs worth touching again."

The world around me got blurry and distorted; the sound of his voice was fleeting away. My body went oddly numb, and I watched his hands as they roamed my body.

I feel nothing.

"They're certainly not the best tits I've touched, but it is promising. Maybe I'll touch it again."

His hands grabbed the hem of my pants and pulled at it roughly.

"Does it have hair as well? Does it? Let's see if it has pussy hair too. Pull it's pants down."

I closed my eyes, shutting them out, making them disappear from my view.

I see nothing.

"Oh, it does. Is it a virgin, you think?"

"Of course it is. Nobody would touch this, ever. It should be grateful that I'm willing to tarnish my hands by touching it's pussy."

I searched my mind for something good, something nice, and grasped a tune that fleeted by in a childhood memory. I took that song and played it in my head, over and over again, drowning his voice in the tunes of Alphaville's "_Sounds like a melody_".

_I hear nothing._

_._

_._

_._

When the world slowly returned to me I was alone again, lying on the damp grass. My pants were pulled down to my ankles, and my panties were ripped to shreds. My body ached in places it had never ached before, and I stood up on shaky legs. My hair had twigs and shreds of fern moss in it, and I tried to comb through the mess with my fingers.

I swallowed thickly and pushed away the tears that were pooling in my eyes.

_I will not cry. I will not give him that pleasure._

My chest felt heavy and constricted, and my body was suddenly overwhelmed by weakness. I was so tired, so exhausted. Images of _them_ and what they did to me attacked my mind, and I fought as hard as I could to try and expel the images from my memory.

_I don't want to think about that. Not now. Not ever._

I pushed it far, far away in my mind, and buried it as deep as I could. I swore to never tell anybody, and to make sure it would never happen again. I had no idea how, but I was going to do it. I was going to win this time. He would never touch me again.

Somehow I managed to make my way home. I walked in a daze, not noticing anything around me until I stood on the porch to my house. I stilled for a while, dragging my mind back to reality and trying to conjure up a normal facial expression. I didn't want to worry my parents. I took a few deep breaths, and opened the door.

"Is that you, honey? Where have you been? We were worried!" My mother's voice floated through the air, from the kitchen. The sounds of dishes being put away and the smell of grilled meat told me they had already eaten.

"I'm sorry, I was at the playground and I kind of lost track of time…" I took a quick look in the mirror, making sure there were no visible signs of what happened to me earlier.

"Oh sweetie, were you on the swings again? You always loved that… Hey, are you hungry? We saved some for you." She scurried to the fridge and brought out a plate filled with food to heat up for me.

I stared at the plate in the microwave. It spun around, and around, and around. The movement made me dizzy and the smell made me nauseous. I walked to the table in a haze and sat down, and my mother brought me the plate and a glass of water.

"Did you climb trees again? You've got twigs in your hair." I felt her fingers picking in my hair, combing it with her fingers and smoothing it, putting much more effort into the task than necessary. I leaned my head into her hands, and she stilled for a few seconds before caressing my cheek and patting my shoulder.

"Come on, you need to eat, Pooh Bear."

I stared at the food. A large piece of meat, potatoes, and braised vegetables stared back at me. The smell was overwhelming. It was thick and meaty, with a faint hint of onion.

_Onion. _They_ smelled like onion._

My stomach turned. The smell of onion made my gorge rise and I desperately tried to suppress the belch that threatened to erupt. I swallowed it down and pushed the plate away.

"I'm sorry mom, I'm not that hungry. I… I ate this double sized Mars bar on my way home."

I quickly stood up, threw the food in the trash, and put the plate in the dish washer. I kissed my mother on the cheek before I ran up the stairs. The food and the smell made my head spin with images of what had happened, and the feeling I got from shoving it in the trash was pure relief.

"I need to take a shower!" I hollered, and hurried to the bathroom. I locked the door and leaned against it. Tears burned behind my closed eyelids, and a sob escaped as I slid down to the floor. Being in the safety of my home again caused my body to release the fear I had held back, and I lay down on the hard tiles, shaking. My head replayed the words I was trying to forget, and I pressed my hands against my ears, desperately trying to shut them out, and not succeeding.

"Please stop, please…" I pleaded. No one was there to listen.

I stayed on the floor, rolled into a small ball, until the voices disappeared, and my mind went blank. I stood up, undressed, and ran the shower. I felt numb, obtuse, an empty shell. The steam from the shower enveloped me in a thick haze, hiding me from the outside world. I stepped inside and let the burning hot water flow over my body. I wanted to wash the dirt away, cleanse myself and be pure again.

I grabbed the nail brush and the soap, and started to meticulously scrub every inch of my body. It wasn't until my skin was scratched and flaming red that I felt I was finally getting clean again. I watched my marred flesh, pleased with the burning sensation and the small drops of blood trickling down my body and dispersing into the water.

I got out of the shower and wrapped myself up in the thick fabric of the towel, drying myself with gentle pats on my now sensitive skin. Blood was slowly oozing out of the scratches, and I reached for a bottle of antiseptic in the cabinet. I soaked a piece of cotton with the clear fluid, the smell of alcohol stinging my nose, and winced as I stroked it over the torn areas of my body. The searing pain in my skin eased the ache in my chest, making the agony and shame easier to bear.

I watched myself in the large mirror. It wasn't long ago since I stood in here, naked, marvelling at my newly acquired female shapes. I was what my parents called "a late bloomer", and it was only a few months ago that I started to finally grow breasts. I remembered the pride I felt as I let my fingers slide over my chest.

I pressed my hands against my breasts trying to force them back in. Their softness was suddenly sickening, I felt disgusted by them. I wrapped the towel tight around my body, making my chest look flat again, like a child's.

_Why can't I look like this__ instead? I hate my breasts. I don't want them anymore. They are gross. _

_It's their fault.__ If I didn't have boobs, they wouldn't have done the things they…_

I shut my brain down in the middle of the thought. I did not want to go there again. I cast one last angry look at my body in the mirror, and mimed at it:

_This is your fault. I hate you._

I spent most of the weekend in my room sleeping, and pretending to read or listen to music. It wasn't an unusual thing for me to do, so my parents didn't bother me much. Waves of agony flooded my body from time to time and left me curled up under the blanket, sobbing and pulling my hair. I drifted in and out of nightmares, always jerking awake at the same moment, leaving me with the same voice in my head: _"Does it have hair as well? Does it? Let's see if it has pussy hair too. Pull its pants down."_

Mom gave me a few strange looks when I didn't really eat much for dinners that weekend, but my appetite wasn't back. I didn't feel like eating. The smell made me nauseous and reminded me of things I didn't want to recall. I told my parents I had a lot of snacks while reading, and that all I needed was an apple. I slowly nibbled on it, and my family didn't ask any more questions.

When I woke up on Monday morning I felt like I had a hole in my stomach. I was hungry, so hungry, but when I sat down to have breakfast I suddenly had an urge to leave the table. I watched the food, and I had no idea what I wanted to have. I was starving, but didn't feel like eating anything at all. I drank a cup of tea and grabbed an apple, before making my way upstairs again to get dressed and brush my teeth.

The hot tea filled my belly with a warm and pleasant feeling, and I almost didn't feel the hunger anymore. I went through the closet in search of a top. I bought a pile of new ones last month, tighter than my old tees, with a slight cleavage to show off my growing curves. I held one in front of me, and immediately discarded it on the floor.

_I can't wear those again.__ They are too… revealing. I don't want anybody to look at me._

I stuffed all my new tops in a plastic bag and hid them on the top shelf behind a box of old drawings from kindergarten. After a quick look at the tees left I chose a large one with a band logo. I put it on, only to discover that my breasts were still visible under it.

_Shit._

I pulled it off again, and watched myself in the full-length mirror. I covered my breasts with my hands and pressed hard.

_Please disappear._

I wanted to hide them, to make the evidence of my developing womanhood invisible. I rummaged the cabinets in the bathroom and found a roll of gauze bandage. I only hesitated a few seconds before I wrapped my chest in the bandage, making sure it was tight enough to effectively conceal my breasts from the world.

I turned in front of the mirror, pleased with my new flat profile. With the tee on I almost looked like a child again. No sign of any breasts. No longer a soon-to-be-woman. I gave my reflection a sad smile.

_I'm not a person to them. I'm not a girl, __not an individual, not even someone with a name. I'm an _it_. At least now I look like it._ _Nobody will want to touch me now._

The last month at school went by in a blur, and apart from some evil glances and spiteful comments, _they_ left me alone. Chris never looked at me; he averted his eyes as soon as I got near him. I loved him for not staying, for not taking part in the last event, and I hated him for letting them do it, for not getting help. He wasn't Christopher Robin to me any more. He was a marionette, a puppet on strings, a simple foot soldier.

The fear and anxiety never left, though. I kept having nightmares, waking up in the middle of the night, panting heavily and soaked in sweat. I kept being suddenly flooded with panic, forcing me to leave the room I happened to be in and rush out for fresh air. Sometimes just getting out was enough, and my speeding heart settled quickly. Sometimes I just ran, and didn't stop until I felt the taste of blood in my mouth and my pulse hammered my eardrums. The feeling of not being in control of my life, of myself, grew every day.

I kept eating a lot of fruit, still not having an appetite. The smell of food was still making me nauseous, but I tried to suppress the panic it stirred in me and forced myself to eat. It was a relief every time I had an opportunity to throw food away. My parents started to wonder, but I always told them I ate a lot for lunch and had snacks on my way home. My eating snacks wasn't very unusual, so they accepted my explanations without asking questions – in the beginning. I couldn't believe I got off the hook so easily.

It was night when the solution to my problems dawned on me. The hungry feeling in my tummy was temporarily pushed aside by the large cups of tea I drank before I went to bed, but the caffeine in it made me toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep.

_I seriously don't get __how people can stand being on a diet. Not eating enough is hard! I really really want to eat, but I just… can't. _

Toss and turn.

_If this is what it feels like to be hungry all the time, I totally get why Mrs. Fielding was so grumpy during classes last year. That diet must have been awful. Did the trick though, she lost a lot of weight._

Toss and turn.

_Lost her boobs too, hahaha. They went from ridiculously large to practically non-existent. _

Toss.

_Wait… __That's it! She lost her boobs when she lost weight. I'm a genius! If I start a diet I will lose weight, and this body will change into something they don't want to touch. _He_ won't touch me again. I could actually make this work._

And turn.

_Yeah. Maybe t__his will work. If it does… I will win._

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

The next day I set to work. It was the first day of summer break, and I was deliriously happy. I had found a cure, a way to finally escape my bullies. I was going to lose weight, to get rid of the female curves and get back the childish body. I went to the mall to buy a journal. I spent a lot of time choosing, this wasn't just any journal. This was going to be the most important weapon in my fight. This was where I intended to keep track of what I ate and what the scale showed.

I settled for a journal in icy blue and white colours, with a fairy on the cover. She was young, thin and had a boyish figure. Her hair was dark like mine, but it was spiky and ruffled while mine was long and straight. Her complexion was pale and her wings white and feathery. She was enclosed in a crystal bubble, a shield to protect her from the world. Her body was translucent. She was beautiful.

I paid for the journal and held it tight against my pounding heart on my way home.

As I sat down by the old desk in my room, I tapped my fingers against my lips. I needed to figure out the best way to do this. I had never been on a diet before. I began by writing down what I usually ate during an entire day. I stared at the list in disbelief. Was it really that much? Why I wasn't already a big bloat of fat was almost too hard to comprehend. All the food, the candy, the soda… The amount of sugar and fat I digested everyday was mind blowing. It wouldn't be too hard to find a way to lose weight.

I needed to do some research, and fired up my computer. After a few searches on diets and calories I found a web page that listed various foods and their energy content, and I quickly created a spreadsheet with things I could eat, and things I could not. I sat back, content with my work so far. Fruit and vegetables felt fairly safe, they consisted mostly of water. It made me feel proud that I was already on that route, eating practically nothing but apples for the last few days.

_Apples, 44 calories, 10,5 grams of carbs, 85 % water._

_I'm doing well already._

I touched the screen with my fingertips, tracing the list from top to bottom. A strange feeling settled in my belly, and I puckered my brows as I tried to understand it. I searched my memory to find something similar, and closed my eyes as I suddenly recognized it. It was control. I felt in control again.

I chewed at my pen and stared at the open journal for a long time, reading my eating list over and over. Then I crossed out all the candy with thick, black lines. No more on-the-way-to-school candy. No more pre-lunch snack. No more waiting-for-the-bus chocolate. No more after-dinner sweets. Nothing.

I pursed my lips and went over the list again. I didn't eat much food now anyway, so I figured I could set some guidelines for that as well.

_Potatoes… Not more than two__ small ones._

_Pasta… About half the size as I usually take. That goes for the pasta sauce too._

_Meat… Ugh, meat. Maybe a piece the size of an Oreo cookie ? It's probably more than I've eaten these last weeks anyway._

_Fries… No, not at all. Forbidden._

_Vegetables, if they are fresh… as much as I want. If they are braised there's oil and stuff on them, so none. No avocado either. Lot's of fat._

_Fruit… Yeah, fruit is fine. But not raisins, there's a lot of sugar in them. _

As I worked on my eating list, peace was slowly settling in my body. Planning my meals lulled me into security and gave me something to think about, something that didn't include _them_. They were safe thoughts, and they helped me to cast out the bad things from my mind. The realization that I could exert an influence on something, and that I could be the master of my own body in ways that _they_ could not, was exhilarating.

That night was the first one without nightmares. It was fantastic.

As the summer passed by, I quickly settled into my new routine. My parents were happy that I seemed exited about food and eating again, and they thought my newly found interest in calories and cooking was a good sign that my appetite was back. I was constantly researching new recipes, and started to make dinner for my family more often. Being in control of the cooking process secured healthy food for me, and I planned the meals thoroughly. I knew the exact amount of calories in each meal.

Reading recipes and cooking for my family became a substitute for actually eating the food. I devoured it with my eyes, inhaled the scents and listened to the homely sounds of simmering casseroles or sizzling beef. I felt the texture of the food as I prepared the ingredients and finally tasted some of it, letting a small spoonful into my mouth and chewing it slowly, making sure it tasted right, before spitting it out in the trashcan.

Every night I spent half an hour writing down everything I had eaten, counting calories, and going through my food list. I made small modifications to it, adding things I decided were safe, and crossing others that I felt were unhealthy, or simply unnecessary. Working on my food list soothed me, and after I had noted my evening weight in the book next to the calorie count I felt calm enough to go to sleep. I was safe in my carefully planned and controlled food regime.

After a few weeks of decreasing calorie count and equally decreasing weight, the numbers on the scale suddenly stood still. There had been no change at all since last night. I could usually note a few grams of decrease even on the bad days, but this time, nothing had happened. My weight was exactly the same. I watched the numbers in my journal in disbelief, before I ran back to the bathroom.

_This can't be true. I must have read them wrong._

My heart pounded as I stepped on the scale again, and I closed my eyes as I waited for the beep that told me the weigh in was done. When I finally opened them, and glanced at the scale, my heart stopped. I stared at the numbers in horror. The panic surged through my body again.

_No change._

I stepped of the scale, frantically trying to understand what had gone wrong.

_Did I slip somewhere? Did I eat something and forget it? Did I forget to use the low fat cream when I cooked today?_

I watched myself in the large mirror, closely examining my body. I searched for the grams that were not supposed to be there, trying to find where my missing weight loss had gone.

_It must be somewhere on this body. __Somewhere there are a few grams that shouldn't be there._

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes.

_Isn't my belly a bit fatter than it used to be?_

I ghosted my stomach with my hands. It felt like it should, a slight curve inwards. I slid my hand across my ribcage. It had gotten a bit more prominent than it used to, and I loved it. I was never a fat kid, but seeing the faint shape of bones was exiting. It meant that I was successful. I counted my ribs, feeling each one of them with my fingers.

_One, two, three, four, five__…_

My hands didn't feel the fat that I thought I saw in the mirror.

_E__yes can't lie. I see what I see. I must feel things wrong. My belly is fatter._

The more I watched myself, the bigger my belly became. As I stood there in the bathroom, scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror, it became clear to me that I needed to up the stakes. It was time to make some changes to my diet.

I sat down with my journal, and went through the list again. I decided to cut out one more thing of my eating list, and to eat one thing less during the day. I really didn't need to eat both an apple and a banana for breakfast.

_Apples, 44 calories, 10,5 grams of carbs, 85 % water._

_Bananas, 107 calories, 26 grams of carbs, 75__ % water._

The choice was easy. Since apples had the least amount of calories out of the two, I crossed the banana out. I clearly had been sloppy the last few days, and I decided I needed to be more in control of my food intake. Skipping the bananas was a start, but I had to find other ways too. A plan took shape in my mind, and I finally feel into a dreamless sleep.

I started to weigh my portions before I called my family to dinner, to make sure I knew exactly how many grams of food entered my body each day. Whenever my parents commented on my, in their opinion, small portions, I would always argue that I had eaten some while cooking. I had to make sure it tasted good, right?

I made a habit out of smearing the food around on my plate before I called them to the table, to make it look like I had already eaten some.

I also made sure I was seated when they came, timing my first bite to their arrival. That way I always chewed on a mouthful of food as they slipped down in their seats.

I quickly learned that by cutting the food into small pieces and shoving them around on my plate, it looked like I ate more than I actually did.

I became a skilled actor, and mastered the impression of eating like a champion. The digits on the scale started to drop again, giving me new beautiful numbers to write in my book: each night a smaller value than the night before.

The feeling of hunger was my constant companion, and I went from being tormented by it, to actually welcoming the hollow ache. An empty stomach meant that I was successful. The hunger was proof that I was doing things right, that I was in control. It was a sign, telling me I was going to win. I loved the feeling, and choosing not to eat created a strange high.

I could feel my hip bones standing out, and my ribs were more prominent than ever. It felt so good; I loved to run my fingers across them. It wasn't my bony hips and visible ribs that caught my attention when I stood in front of the mirror, though. I spent an endless amount of time scrutinizing every inch of my body, finding fat everywhere. I could see my body swell when I looked in the mirror. I took to wearing large sweaters, no matter the weather. It served two purposes for me, I could hide my dreaded body, and I didn't freeze as much. I always felt cold, in spite of the warm summer. My mother commented my thin body on more than one occasion, and it angered me. I knew she was lying to me, I wasn't that thin. I saw it in the mirror.

One morning, with only a week or two left on summer break, I woke with the strangest feeling. I couldn't place it, but I felt strongly that something was wrong. I sat up, shivering when my body left the warm cocoon under my duvet. Slowly, I rose from my bed and rummaged through the closet for a pair of sweat pants. I pulled a thick sweater over my head and curled up on the bed again trying to get warm. Thoughts wandered through my head in a slow pace, and I listened intently to my body to decipher the peculiar feeling.

As my body warmed up again, it suddenly hit me. Terror sank through my body like a weight of lead, creating an intense pressure over my chest and making it hard to breathe. I whimpered, and tears started to fall, mourning the loss my body experienced. My hunger had disappeared. It had been my companion for a long time, but now I didn't feel it anymore. It frightened me. How was I supposed to know if I ate the correct amount of food, if I didn't have that feeling to guide me? Did it mean that I ate too much again?

My hands shook as I brought the journal out from under my pillow. The food list had shrunken visibly, and the allowed food was now covering only one page. My weight was still decreasing, as were my food portions. I had every gram written down: intake of food, outcome in weight loss. I went over my weight loss again, and realized the decrease from day to day was smaller now than before. I didn't drop as many grams as I used to.

_Could that be the reason?_

My mind was muddled, and it was hard to think. I felt like I missed important things, and pressed my eyelids together.

_Maybe hunger was related to a certain weight loss rate? _

I didn't have the energy to think anymore. I decided that the loss of hunger was because I didn't lose as much weight as before, and that I needed to take care of that. Obviously I ate too much anyway. I didn't lose the weight I should, and I didn't feel hungry. I needed to do things better.

I listened to the sounds of breakfast being made downstairs. I always pretended to be asleep until after my family had eaten. That way I could skip breakfast without them noticing. My mother was getting worried about me. She had taken the habit of making me a few pieces of toast that awaited me on a plate when I got down to the kitchen. I scraped off the butter, nibbled a little on the bread, and then hid it in a large piece of kitchen paper before I threw it in the trash can. As soon as my mother passed by, she saw me sipping my tea and reading the newspaper, with a small pile of bread crumbs on the table. Relief passed over her face when she saw the signs of me eating breakfast. She had not yet discovered the bread in the trash.

I was thankful that school was approaching. Not eating lunch was getting harder and harder, and my parents were more often present during my cooking than they used to be. I felt their looks on my back as I pretended to taste the food I was preparing. My habit of smearing the plate to make it look used was thwarted with them in the kitchen, and I was suddenly forced to put more food on my plate than I wanted. I couldn't weigh my portions anymore, either. I was forced to eat more again, and the numbers on the scale stopped falling.

I took to running every day to get rid of the extra calories my parents forced me to eat. I calculated the distances to make sure I lost more calories than I gained from eating. Panic became my over all feeling, and I dreaded every meal. The loss of control I experienced not being able to master my food intake made my temper severely unpleasant. I couldn't wait for school to begin so I could get my parents off my back and regain control.

Being back to school rewarded me with three things: a way to escape breakfast, a chance to control lunches, and evidence that my plan to make _them_ lose interest in me was working.

I was worried about the new breakfast routines, since I now had to eat at the same time as the rest of the family. I quickly learned a way to escape that without too much argument. I needed to be in time for school, obviously, which meant it was possible for me to stall breakfast to the point that I had to take my breakfast in a bag "to eat on my way to school". I never ate it. I threw it in the garbage can by the bus stop.

Lunches were easy. I lived close enough to be able to go home during lunch break, and it wasn't that weird that I preferred a well cooked meal instead of the lousy school lunches. My friends were beginning to ask questions, though. It pissed me off at first. They had no business asking me what I ate, but seeing the looks on their faces when I lashed out at them made me realize it just made me look more suspicious to them. I took the habit of telling them about the meals I prepared at home, and after some time their questions died down. It made my life easier, and I was thankful for that.

I quickly found out that James had lost his interest in me, and when he left me alone, the others did too. Our only encounter consisted of him ripping my large sweater up to my neck, exposing my now nonexistent bosom. He stared at me, a mixture of disgust and confusion flashing briefly in his black eyes as I stared back. My thin chest and prominent ribs were visible under the tee I was wearing, showing my boyish chest. He pulled my sweater down, turned around and left. He never looked at me again.

Time had always been an issue for me at school. It used to be about not bumping into _them_ during recess, but now it was about food. I looked at the clock every five minutes the last class before lunch. I wanted to get out of there, to be home again. I needed to feel the control I felt when I administered my lunch. When Erin asked what I would eat for lunch I spoke longingly about the creamy casserole, the mashed potatoes with lots of butter in them that would await me when I got home.

I waved good bye to them, and heard Erin talk behind my back as I walked away.

"She's so thin now. Did you see her hips sticking out? And she talks about food all the time. Nothing else, only food. That's weird, I mean, since she's so thin. I don't think she eats…"

I tuned out her voice and increased my speed, almost running the last bit. I had an apple at home, waiting to be eaten, and I wanted to burn some calories before I put it in my mouth. I breathed heavily as I stumbled through the door, dizzy and lightheaded. I put my head between my knees for a while, and when my breathing had slowed down and I could stand straight again I went to the kitchen. I filled a glass of water and sat down by the table. I drank slowly, filling my stomach with non-calorie water, before I went to the kitchen counter. It was time for my lunch, and I had a routine I needed to follow.

I took a green apple, a chopping-board, a knife and the ruler I kept hidden behind the microwave oven. I cut the apple in half, and sliced every half into sticks. I measured to be sure they were one centimetre wide each, turned them over and sliced again, one centimetre. When I was done with my cutting I had a small pile of apple cubes, measuring one centimetre on each side. I weighed one of them and noted the weight before I took the apple cubes to the table.

I sat for a while, looking at the small pieces of apple in front of me. Eating was a challenge and I had worked out some rules to make it easier. I arranged the apple cubes into three piles containing twelve, six and three pieces.

I began with the large pile, slowly eating one piece at the time and chewing each piece six times. When six pieces where gone I ran to the scale to make sure I hadn't gained any weight.

If the numbers on the scale were the same or less than in the morning, I went back to eat the remaining six pieces in the large pile. If not, I ran up and down the stairs six times before I went back to the table.

After eating the entire large pile I did the same thing, stepping on the scale to keep track of my weight. If there was still no difference in my weight, I went back and ate the middle sized pile consisting of six pieces of apple. If I had increased my weight, the running up and down the stairs commenced again: six times, no more, no less.

The small pile of three apple cubes was my dessert, my reward for sticking to my routine. I didn't weigh in after that.

My lunch routine made certain that I didn't eat too much, and I felt safe and secure knowing that even if I didn't feel the hunger anymore, I still was in control. Dinners at home, on the other hand, became more and more disturbing. My family eyed me suspiciously as I pushed the food around on the plate, and my mother was nagging about my eating constantly.

One night I lost it. My mother had filled my plate with an enormous pile of food and demanded I eat it in front of her. I panicked at the sight of potatoes and meat swimming in pools of fatty sauce. Of course I refused to eat.

My mother screamed at me, tears streaming down her face, telling me I'd lost control. I blinked in confusion and stared at her. I didn't understand that at all. It was the other way around, couldn't she see that? I _was_ in control, finally, over the food, my body and the way people – _they_ – reacted to it. I controlled it all. I was in charge, the master of myself and _them_.

I felt oddly detached from the things taking place in the kitchen. I saw my hand take the plate and throw it on the floor, before my now numb body walked back to my room, shutting out the sounds of my mothers sobs.

Wandering back and forth in my room, I began to feel insecure. Did I, or did I not, eat some of the food before I went upstairs? I couldn't remember, and my thoughts were strangely sluggish. My mouth inexplicably watered as I remembered of the food on the plate, and I swallowed audibly. I felt the saliva pool in my mouth, and it somehow worried me. I surely shouldn't be swallowing all this saliva. I had no idea if it contained any calories – what if all the saliva would make me fat?

_Better safe than sorry_, I thought, and walked to the bathroom to spit it out. The dizziness was back, and I felt like I was floating through the air. My salivary glands continued to produce the unsafe liquid, so I spat and spat until my mouth finally felt dry again.

I slowly took my clothes off and stared at myself in the mirror. I waited breathlessly for my body to swell with fat while I looked at it, like always, but nothing happened.

_Weird._

I traced my face with my fingers. My cheeks were sunken in and I had dark circles under my eyes. My skin was pale, almost see-through. I could see my veins making a dark blue pattern under the skin. My collarbones were sticking out, looking fragile and easily breakable. My arms were thin and my hands bony.

I thought it was beautiful. It reminded me of the fairy on my food journal, but there was something that didn't add up. I frowned and tried to think.

I tilted my head. The face was right, the skin… It was the hair. My dark hair fell down my back in large waves, and that was wrong. It wasn't supposed to look like that. It should be thin and spiky, not thin and long. I searched the cabinets and found a small scissor.

_This will have to do._

I grabbed a handful of hair and started to chop through it. My hair fell to the ground, tuft by tuft, and pooled around my feet. Somewhere in a distance I heard knocks on the bathroom door and a voice screaming at me. I couldn't make the words out, and I realized I didn't care either. I admired my new haircut in the mirror.

_I look j__ust like her._

The lightheaded, floating feeling still lingered, and I couldn't feel my legs anymore. I sank down to the floor. It was the weirdest experience, but as I felt myself float up in the air it all made sense.

_Like the fairy. That's what I am._

_I don't need legs._

I looked down, and saw myself lying there, thin and breakable, translucent. If I tried really hard I could almost make out a faint pair of wings on my back, I was sure of it.

The distant sounds of screaming and knocking on the door disappeared, and were replaced by a dull, thumping sound. A sharp, white light encircled me, and I lost sight of myself lying on the floor. The rhythmic sound in my ears became irregular, like drummers out of beat, and I found it oddly amusing.

_I did it, I won,_ I thought, and my heart swelled with joy as I floated higher in the air and slowly disappeared.

* * *

_**A/N This is for Joanna and Marie, who lived it, beat it and survived it. You are heroes.**_


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